


La Jeune Fille et Son Monsieur

by LoonyLevicorpus



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Corsetry, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Genderplay, M/M, Masochism, Rimming, Roleplay, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:52:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLevicorpus/pseuds/LoonyLevicorpus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire seeks shelter for the night at Enjolras' flat, but bursts in on Enjolras attempting to remove a corset.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Jeune Fille et Son Monsieur

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I have written in the Les Mis fandom, and the first writing I have done since ~2008. Enjolras is purposefully OOC in this fic as it is semi-roleplay, and I hope I've done both characters justice! Another note: Enjolras' appearance is intended to be Hugolian!canon and therefore much more feminine than the actors who have played him.
> 
> Inspired by tumblr user yosb's crossdressing!Enjolras artwork. All credit for the title goes to tumblr user Amanda one-thousand-teacups as I am utterly incapable of titling my work. Translated it means "the maiden and her mister". I would also like to thank Amanda and tumblr user Lauren queenofeden for their beta work! If it weren't for your criticism and praise I would never have gotten around to finishing this and I certainly wouldn't have had the balls to post it.

Grantaire stumbled up the steps to Enjolras’ tiny flat – little more than a closet at the top of a tenement near the Café Musain – and fell against the door with a faint whump. As much as Enjolras seemed to detest him, he always allowed Grantaire a place in his bed on nights when no other lodging could be found. Grantaire wasn’t sure if Enjolras ever used the bed himself. The nights he had slept there had been filled with the scratching sounds of Enjolras writing countless pamphlets, letters to his government contacts, and speeches he gave in the square; all he ever seemed to do was prepare for the coming revolution.

His hand fumbled for the doorknob which he knew hovered somewhere near his head. His head that felt pleasantly fuzzy, like it was filled with cotton. Finally his fingers managed the grasp and twist needed and the door swung slowly open, pulling his arm along as his hand had forgotten to let go.

And standing at the other end of the room was a woman. An impossibly slender woman, her body more girlish than curvy, with her back turned to him and her fingers pulling delicately at the lacings of her corset. She seemed to be having trouble undressing herself. Golden curls rested on her shoulders and danced down her back. She took a moment to sweep them around her neck and out of the way.

Grantaire was transfixed. At the back of his mind he wondered if he had let himself into the wrong room. But there was Enjolras’ red jacket hung neatly on the wall, and there was his desk covered in papers written in his aristocratic script, and that was certainly the bed Grantaire had slept in many a night.

The woman was still pulling at her lacings ineffectively. She had started at the bottom where they were pulled tight against her waist, rather than from the top where the ties could be loosened and worked down. Grantaire had fair experience undressing women and wondered why this one didn’t seem to know how to work her own clothing. As she pulled the bottom laces the ones above them tightened further, causing her to gasp faintly. The noise and increased tension around her waist prompted a faint stirring in Grantaire’s groin.

He knew he had been staring far too long, that when this woman or Enjolras realized that he had been watching he would be thrown into the street. But where was Enjolras? Was this woman undressing for him? Grantaire had always admired Enjolras’ steadfast purity, sure that he was as innocent and chaste as a monk. But perhaps even his darling Orestes sought comfort in carnal pleasures. It upset Grantaire to think of Enjolras lying with a woman, though he did not allow himself to dwell on why.

The bitter taste of jealousy on his tongue was what prompted him into action at last. If he could just find another bottle of wine he wouldn’t have feelings at all. He gripped the doorknob tightly again and attempted to pull himself to his feet, but he lost his balance almost immediately. He fell against the door with a bang and a string of curse words.

The noise startled the woman and she spun around in alarm, arms still behind her back.

But it wasn’t a woman at all. It was – 

“Enjolras?” Grantaire exclaimed in disbelief.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras returned in greeting. He appeared unashamed of his appearance now that he realized who had burst in on him. Grantaire assumed it was because Enjolras cared little for the opinion of a sloppy drunk. “If you are here to stay the night, I ask only one favor in return: help remove this awful garment.”

“Only if you tell me how you came to wear it,” said Grantaire. He was equal parts amused and aroused at the possibilities.

“This evening I attended a dinner as companion to Monseigneur Chaveau,” stated Enjolras matter-of-factly.

“I thought you detested high society and their parties. Not days ago you stood before a crowd and condemned the frivolity of the fete galante lifestyle,” he recalled in a mocking tone. Enjolras gave him a stern look.

“Nor does this explain why you chose to dress as a woman,” pressed Grantaire.

“I have been masquerading as a woman among the aristocracy for some time now. I wear petticoats and corsets the way that a soldier wears his uniform,” explained Enjolras. “Women aren’t so closely monitored as men in politics. I accompany Chaveau and gather information about many of our enemies – government leaders, affluent society members, even details about the king’s activities. They believe me to be Chaveau’s mistress. While I sit coyly beside the men they admire my beauty but never consider that I may be listening to what they say; that I may be plotting against them.”

“Perhaps I should call you Mademoiselle Jezebel. You deceitful woman,” Grantaire teased.

“You needn’t call me anything, I am your Enjolras. A wig and a costume do not change that,” Enjolras replied. 

“You say the men you are spying on believe that you are Chaveau’s mistress… To what lengths must you go to keep them from doubting?” asked Grantaire, wiggling a suggestive eyebrow.

“Your vulgarity does not amuse me,” replied Enjolras. His lips curled in distaste. “Now, if you will,” he gestured to the corset and turned his back to Grantaire.

“Fine, fine...” muttered Grantaire. He hoped he sounded annoyed, that he found this a bothersome task. Secretly he thrilled with nerves and arousal. 

Grantaire’s fingers, so often clumsy with drink, proved to be quick and nimble when loosening a corset. He began at the top, untucking the loose laces from where they had been stuffed down Enjolras’ back. His fingertips were cold and he felt a shiver run down Enjolras’ spine when they brushed against his warm skin. He swallowed thickly and tried not to marvel at the contrast between the smooth plane of Enjolras’ back and his own calloused fingers. He pulled the slack through the first pair of eyelets and began the laborious process of loosening the other rows. 

“Oh,” sighed Enjolras with relief and surprise as the constriction lifted. His breaths deepened as his lungs gratefully received more air. The sight and sound of it further aroused Grantaire’s desire. “When have you learned how to remove these wretched things?”

“I have found the opportunity for practice on a few occasions…” Grantaire trailed off suggestively.

Enjolras stiffened as he realized the implications of Grantaire’s words. “I see.”

“It is a very sensual act, helping a woman to remove her undergarments. An act that takes time, that must be savored,” said Grantaire softly. Enjolras nodded, still stiff and awkward. The back of his neck was splotched red, Grantaire noted, fascinated with the possibility that he had made his leader blush. He had reached the final rows of eyelets. His knuckles brushed against the dip of Enjolras’ back, and he willed his hands not to shake with nerves when he continued. He had realized that his touch teased just above Enjolras’ buttocks as he slowly eased the lacing loose. 

With his fingers still tangled in the laces, lust swirling in his belly, Grantaire stepped closer to Enjolras. He didn’t know how his actions would be received, but his trousers were impossibly tight and he prayed he was not the only one affected. 

“What are you doing?” demanded Enjolras, voice cracking.

“You asked for my assistance, I am giving it,” replied Grantaire. He hoped he sounded suave, like he knew what he was doing. He slid his arms around Enjolras and to the front of the corset. He found the fastenings of the busk and released them gently, allowing the corset to pop open and fall to their feet.

The shift Enjolras wore beneath the corset was damp with sweat and still clung to his body even when the corset had been removed. When Enjolras remained motionless Grantaire pressed himself along the lines of Enjolras’ back, sure that he could feel the painfully quick beating of his heart. The adrenaline rushing through his system had cleared his mind, and while he was glad for the lucidity he was also afraid of his heightened level of awareness. He had woken up nearly every night sweating over the thought of Enjolras beneath him, misbehaved at meetings of Les Amis just to garner attention from that piercing gaze, and here he was with his leader before him in nothing but a flimsy shift. 

Grantaire rested his palms against Enjolras’ ribcage and felt along his waist. There were deep grooves dented into his skin where the boning had constricted tightest, and Enjolras hissed as Grantaire massaged them with his fingertips. Grantaire hummed in sympathy and hooked his chin over Enjolras’ shoulder.

Pressing his lips to the curve of Enjolras’ ear, he asked, “Does it hurt?” 

“No,” responded Enjolras. He was always so determined to show no signs of weakness. 

“I pray it does not bruise. Your skin is fair as marble,” Grantaire tried to sound silly and unaffected, but he meant it. Enjolras resembled a sculpture in the way that he carried himself, in the way that he could sit so still for hours at a time while he thought, but most in the way that his skin shone smooth and pale.

“Such praise would be better suited to the seduction of Jehan. That sounds like the beginning to one of his poems,” replied Enjolras. 

“You think I aim to seduce you?” 

When Enjolras gave no reply, Grantaire grasped him by the waist and turned him around gently. He could see the discomfort and confusion in Enjolras’ expression; this was a man who had almost certainly never given in to the urges of his body. He watched his leader’s eyes stray to the desk in the corner, no doubt thinking of letters and speeches that had yet to be written. The vulnerability and uncertainty was something Grantaire had never seen in his fearless leader, and it prompted a surety he had never felt.

“Allow your mind a moment’s rest,” Grantaire urged, cupping Enjolras’ face between his hands. “Paris and her troubles will be waiting for you tomorrow.” 

Enjolras turned his gaze from the desk and met Grantaire’s eyes. He still looked torn, and so Grantaire leaned forward, capturing his pursed lips in a tender kiss. He stroked the line of Enjolras’ jaw with his thumb and Enjolras finally responded, allowing his mouth to relax. Grantaire pressed small, sweet kisses to each of Enjolras’ lips before licking tentatively between them. As he expected, Enjolras gasped in surprise. The innocence of his reaction sent a bolt of desire thrilling through Grantaire’s body and he removed one of his hands from Enjolras’ face to grip tightly at his hip. He moved his mouth against Enjolras’, coaxing his lips open and pressing his tongue in to lick behind Enjolras’ teeth. Enjolras gripped at his arm unsteadily, his tongue clumsily following the path of Grantaire’s licks. Grantaire’s lips curled in a smile against Enjolras’ mouth – here was one skill that Enjolras had not yet mastered.

Grantaire backed Enjolras against the simple bed and pressed him down into the mattress gently. Enjolras lay where he had been placed, golden curls tumbling across the pillow in a halo, his eyes wide and shining. His shift was wrinkled and rucked up to the tops of his thighs, barely concealing his arousal. Grantaire stared for a moment, at the dusting of golden hair over Enjolras’ calves and thighs, at the curving lines of his legs. Even his knees were pretty compared Grantaire’s, which were knobbly and rough. He was more beautiful than any of the nude women Grantaire had ever laid eyes on. Enjolras stared back, the only sign of his impatience the way he worried at his bottom lip with his teeth. Grantaire surged forward, draping himself over Enjolras’ body and giving him a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses.

When Enjolras turned his head aside, gasping for air, Grantaire sat up between Enjolras’ legs and hooked his hands around the undersides of Enjolras’ knees. He pulled Enjolras’ hips into his lap, the drag on Enjolras’ shift exposing his body up to his ribcage. Enjolras’ cock rested heavily on his belly, stiff and red, and when he realized that it was now visible to Grantaire his breath rattled out shakily.

“Look at the state of you, Jezebel,” murmured Grantaire with a smirk. He ran his hands up the insides of Enjolras’ thighs, parting them gently.

“I have told you not to call me that,” reminded Enjolras solemnly. But the blush high on his cheekbones and the wide, dark pupils of his eyes betrayed the conviction in his voice. 

“Shall I call you Mademoiselle instead?” suggested Grantaire as he ran his thumbs lightly along the juncture of Enjolras’ groin and thigh. His skin was pale and silky here, where the light scarcely had opportunity to touch it. Grantaire wondered if anyone had ever seen Enjolras as he was seeing him now. He dragged the fingertips of one hand along the underside of Enjolras’ cock, causing Enjolras to let out a surprised “Oh!” Gripping Enjolras’ cock in a loose fist he squeezed and slid it through his fingers until Enjolras’ hips began bucking up desperately. Enjolras huffed in frustration when Grantaire’s ministrations stopped.

Grantaire pressed the heel of his hand against Enjolras’ shaft, rubbing his fingers against the head and smearing the precome beaded there. “Mademoiselle, you are so wet for me,” he whispered, furthering the illusion that Enjolras was a woman in the moment. The blush on Enjolras’ face deepened several shades, his lips parted though he seemed to be holding his breath. Grantaire dropped his hand lower, circling a finger teasingly around the muscle of Enjolras’ entrance. He felt it clench faintly and saw Enjolras’ eyes widen just a bit, lungs picking up action again abruptly. He grinned reassuringly and reached over Enjolras’ head for the single pillow he owned, placing it below Enjolras’ hips to replace the support of Grantaire’s lap. 

“Monsieur,” gasped Enjolras, and Grantaire peered at his face to see that he had his eyes shut tightly, his lips in a pout. And, oh, his stoic leader, always deathly serious, had decided to play his part in the fantasy he had created? The raw eroticism of that one word, of the transformation in expression, made Grantaire want to take Enjolras hard and fast right in that moment. But he mustn’t for Enjolras’ sake. 

In the moments Grantaire had taken to compose himself, Enjolras seemed to grow impatient. He lifted his head to discern what was the matter, just in time to see Grantaire bend down on his elbows, his face hovering above Enjolras’ parted thighs. Grantaire looked up at him from beneath his lashes, his expression one of reassurance rather than seduction, before taking the tip of Enjolras’ cock into his mouth and suckling it gently.

Enjolras fell back against the bed, one hand coming up to cover his face as he struggled to contain his reaction. Grantaire gripped at the base of Enjolras’ erection as he slid it further into his mouth, his other hand coming up to wrap around one of Enjolras’ hips. He flicked his tongue against the underside of Enjolras’ shaft inside his mouth while he sucked, and when he swirled it around the slit at the head he felt Enjolras’ hips twitching and heard his panting breaths. 

Grantaire slackened his jaw and allowed Enjolras to thrust up into his mouth for a few moments, feeling the head of his cock pushing against the back of his throat a few times. This was an act that he was familiar with, something he had done in exchange for a few sous on nights when wine was scarce. But it had never felt so glorious, so heady, as it did now. Grantaire wanted to keep Enjolras in his mouth forever, but he knew that he must pull off before Enjolras was spent. He lifted his head, kissing and licking at Enjolras’ cock amusedly when he lifted his hips from the bed to chase after Grantaire’s mouth.

“Shh, Mademoiselle,” he soothed, continuing his trail of kisses down between Enjolras’ spread thighs. Enjolras’ hips undulated restlessly, seemingly without his conscious awareness, and so Grantaire gripped at either hip firmly to hold them in place. A groan of frustration from Enjolras’ throat was cut off abruptly when Grantaire leaned in and kissed Enjolras’ entrance the way that he would kiss his mouth. Grantaire wet his tongue before licking at Enjolras’ hole, again and again he licked deeper inside with curls and twists of his tongue while above him Enjolras whined like an alley cat. 

Grantaire paused, gathering a pool of saliva on his tongue before pushing it into Enjolras. He delved a finger past his tongue, the squelch of his spit as it eased the passage fascinated him. Grantaire glanced up at Enjolras, who seemed perplexed by the sensation of Grantaire thrusting his finger slowly in and out, but a minute later Enjolras started with a yelp. Grantaire laughed aloud.

“There is magic to be found in your body, in these secret places, do you feel it, Mademoiselle?” He prodded the same spot inside Enjolras again. There was a pool of sweat gathering in the dip of Enjolras’ collarbone, it ran in rivulets along his neck as he tossed his head and moaned. Grantaire took this as a sign of encouragement and leaned in to lave more saliva onto a second finger and into Enjolras. He pressed the now spit-shiny finger into Enjolras alongside the first, twisting and flexing them to stretch Enjolras’ tight muscle. As he watched his fingers dipping in and out of Enjolras’ body he could control himself no longer, reaching with his other hand to rub desperately at himself through his breeches.

Enjolras’ brow furrowed and he gripped at the mattress below him, searching for leverage as he rolled his hips down onto Grantaire’s fingers. He scarcely seemed to notice when Grantaire added a third and then a fourth finger, though he made pleased noises each time that Grantaire leaned down to dribble more spit in and around his hole. 

“Forgive me, Mademoiselle,” gasped Grantaire, removing his fingers abruptly to pull at the fastenings of his breeches. He was too impatient to remove them fully, he pulled his cock out with a groan and pushed the fabric down to mid-thigh.

Enjolras watched Grantaire stroking himself with wide eyes. When Grantaire noticed, Enjolras averted his eyes quickly. “I have never seen a man’s body… exposed,” he confessed. Grantaire could not distinguish if it was the Mademoiselle or Enjolras confiding in him; his behavior was so virginal, so maidenlike. And with his shapely red lips, his heavily lashed eyes, his golden curls that fell about his shoulders, his prettily flushed face, he looked more feminine than ever. Grantaire would have been breathless even if he had not been aroused for what seemed an eternity. 

He spit into his palm several times, spreading the fluid along his shaft. Finally, he crowded his hips between Enjolras’ thighs and rutted forward.

“Monsieur,” gasped Enjolras when the head of Grantaire’s cock began rubbing in the groove between his buttocks, slipping over the slick at his entrance. “Please, Monsieur…”

Grantaire reached between them to take hold of himself, pressing the head of his cock against Enjolras’ entrance. He laid a steadying hand upon Enjolras’ belly and pushed forward slowly, into the cloying heat of his body. Enjolras twitched and gasped as Grantaire’s cock nudged at places inside him, his face expressing a myriad of reactions from discomfort to curiosity. 

As soon as he was seated fully inside Enjolras, Grantaire pulled back again for another thrust. He was certain that if he paused, if he let himself think about what was happening, he would explode and ruin the experience for Enjolras. He set a slow, rocking rhythm that had Enjolras rubbing at his face again. Grantaire would be upset that he was missing Enjolras’ beautiful face, but the habit of covering it when he was overwhelmed was an incredibly endearing new character trait. 

Enjolras wrapped his hand inexpertly around his own cock, stroking fitfully but failing to find a rhythm. Grantaire watched him flounder, sure that this may be one of the first times that Enjolras had ever touched himself this way. He was enraptured by the sight of Enjolras discovering himself. So bewitching was the sight that he forgot himself and began pounding into Enjolras with abandon, hard and fast and desperate. Enjolras let out a series of noises almost like sobs, the fist he had around himself squeezing tight. Grantaire reached down to aid him, guiding Enjolras’ hand to pump in time with the thrust of their hips. 

Grantaire could feel Enjolras tightening like a vice around him. He was determined to bring Enjolras to climax first and gritted his teeth against the urge to come. The muscles of Enjolras’ passage clenched fitfully as he came, fluid dripping down over their fingers, still wrapped around his cock in a tangle together.

His hips never ceasing in their movement, Grantaire finally let go. He pushed himself deep into Enjolras and ground his hips in a circle, feeling the resistance of Enjolras’ rim to the base of his cock. But it was the sight of Enjolras, spent and covered in his own seed with that shift still bunched up around his armpits, that sent him over the edge. 

When his awareness returned he pulled out of Enjolras gently, though he longed to keep himself locked inside, for them to become a single being. He rolled over to lie beside Enjolras, wrapping an arm around his waist. He turned Enjolras’ chin and kissed him sweetly, willing all of his love and adoration to flow into Enjolras from his lips. 

When they broke apart, Enjolras whispered, “Thank you, Monsieur,” before standing from the bed.

He stood before his simple night stand, removing the slip and pouring water into the washbasin. He bathed himself methodically and dressed in a simple shirt and breeches in the same manner. He was not hurried, he was not ashamed, he did not avoid Grantaire’s gaze. When he was finished he turned to Grantaire and said, “You are welcome to use my bed for the night. But do not complain about the light of my candle or the sound of my writing. I must inform my contacts what I have learned with Chaveau tonight.” He gave Grantaire a small smile before sitting at his desk. 

Grantaire understood. As Enjolras the leader, he could not allow himself to fall prey to such human comforts as lying in a lover’s embrace. The game that Grantaire had created, this alternate personality that he had coaxed into being, she could relinquish herself to Grantaire. To an hour’s respite from the social struggle Enjolras had taken responsibility for. But it was only for that one hour. Enjolras was important, he did so much for the world and saw the potential in it that others couldn’t see; he didn’t have time to waste being Grantaire’s lover. He must prepare for the future, for he was one of the men that Grantaire believed would shape it. Grantaire despaired to know the truth of it, but he also knew that Enjolras’ single-minded devotion to the cause was what he so admired. At the end of the day he would always be the drunken masochist sitting in the corner, watching Enjolras from afar. 


End file.
